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DON'T LEAVE ME NOW
Through her kindness, I discovered Monday evening that I wasn't yet cut off financially from my mother's account. Dreux was nice enough to take me to the nearest hardware store after we were done helping at both the barber shop and hair salon. It was at the hardware store that I bought a few gallons of pure black paint. Dreux said nothing as I made my purchase, he simply offered to carry the jugs for me to the car, and when I said no, he did it anyway.
My mind was still buzzing about our talk at Marty's. I saw Dreux in a new light, he was still very much a golden boy to me, even if he'd momentarily slipped and lost his way.
What I reflected on most was my unresolved issues with Scott.
When I got in that night, I moved all my furniture to the center of my room and placed down the protective lining along the walls before commencing to painting. I put on some music and got lost as I painted my walls black. Somewhere in the background I vaguely recalled Scott stopping by and noticing me at work. He merely told me dinner was down in the kitchen when I was ready before leaving me be.
There was nothing else said, even though there was a lot to be said.
I painted my room black to make it match what I felt inside.
When my body was aching and tired, I showered and slept in our guest room, skipping dinner altogether.
⚓️
I waited another day or so before confronting Scott, who was off from work Wednesday afternoon. He was in his work room, tinkering around with something, and when I peeked my head inside, I found that it was a guitar he was working on.
Scott's work room was more of his band room, he had an array of bass guitars, a piano, and tons of photos of famous musicians. Jimi Hendrix, Freddie Mercury, Prince, Keith Richards, Jimmy Page, and of course Pink Floyd.
Scott was lost in his own mind as he seemed to be fixing a guitar string. For a while, I watched him, at total peace with the universe. Maybe we were more alike than I even knew, when I was feeling lost, angry, or hurt, I turned to music and I was almost certain the look on Scott's face was the same one I often wore.
In another moment, Scott lifted his head and spotted me. His mouth drew into a flatline. I could see on his face that our civil war was draining him as well.
In the beginning, I wouldn't have given a shit about his angst, but now, I was tired too.
I walked around the room, all the while noting that Scott's eyes lingered on me. At one of his bookcases where he housed shelves of vinyl, my eyes fell upon a small tin box on top.
"Saylor," Scott began to speak up from behind me.
I ignored his remark as I took it upon myself to curiously open the tin box.
